Red Tides
by Ezr
Summary: Set in an alternate universe, Red Tides follows the lives of Yuuri Katsuki, Viktor Nikiforov, Yuri Plisetsky, Otabek Altin, and other characters during the outbreak of the zombie apocalypse.
1. Shattered Yu-topia

Shattered Yu-topia Page | **4**

Looking back, Yuuri wanted to say he knew something was off the instant he awoke that morning. But, truth was, he'd had no idea what was about to transpire at his beloved family's bathhouse inn. When he'd opened his eyes, all Yuuri felt was the comforting familiarity and warmth of being home for the holidays. He remembered looking forward to the scent of his mother's cooking, the idle chatter and reminiscing that would undoubtedly happen over breakfast. He'd been anticipating with great excitement the loving greeting of the family dog.

When he threw open his door, however, he was met with a chilling silence and a stench unlike anything he'd ever smelled. There was no playful, joyous barking from Vicchan. No casual conversation between Mari and their father. No clinking from the kitchen.

 _Nothing_.

Just silence and that awful smell.

Yuuri opened his mouth to call out to the quiet household, but something kept his words lodged in the back of his throat. Thinking back, he figured it was just common sense that'd silenced him. Hands shaking by his sides, he resolved to go investigate what was causing such disquiet in the home and crept down the hall. He slowed his breathing, as the godawful stench only grew the closer he ventured to the main room, and secured an unsteady hand over his nostrils. God, that smell… how it'd made him want to hurl. It was as if something rotten and diseased had made its way into his family home. Something was wrong. Very, _very_ wrong. He'd nearly turned back then and retreated to the safety of his room—he was glad he hadn't, else it was very likely he'd be dead now.

When he made it to the end of the hall, he froze, heart pounding roughly against his ribcage. He just needed to take one more step and he'd have his answer, but no amount of willpower would make his feet move. His limbs trembled and a furious sweat broke out over him as his anxious mind raced with the possibilities that might have awaited him.

 _They could be dead, slaughtered, butchered, chopped up into little pieces_ , Yuuri thought in a panic, and he honestly hadn't been far from the truth.

After taking time to give himself a much-needed mental pep talk—among more fits of panic—Yuuri inched into the main room, and the sight there lent him relief, for a moment. What he saw was his older sister knelt over the bloody, unmoving form of their father.

Yuuri rushed toward them without a second thought.

Once he reached Mari's side, he skidded to a stop and stared down at his father's mutilated form, tears collecting in his widened gaze. The sight and overwhelming stench of the gentle man's corpse almost made him turn around and vomit right then, but he forced himself to survey the body, searching desperately for some sort of answer. His father's midsection had been torn open without care and abused entrails spilled from the messy wound, leaving a pool of blood to gather around the deceased man. A curious set of teeth marks laid claim to his father's throat and ripped chunks of flesh from his shoulder. His expression, Yuuri noted sadly, was one of immense fear and agony. Whoever had executed his father in such a way hadn't even had the decency to give him a swift death.

"M-Mari, what happened here?" Yuuri stuttered, his blurred gaze refusing to leave his father's lifeless form.

Mari offered no response to her brother and remained quietly knelt over their father, the soft wheezing that escaped her acting as Yuuri's only indication that she was still living. Yuuri shifted his sights to rest on her, brows knitting together in concern for his older sister. Briefly, he thought she must be in shock, just as he was. The answer to his previously posed question came when Mari reached a twitching hand into their father's exposed abdominal cavity and ripped free a section of intestine, slowly turning her dead eyes to Yuuri as she devoured the severed organ.

"Mari?' Yuuri croaked and stumbled back a few steps, the blood draining from his face as the realization set in. His own sister had murdered their father, but why? It made him dizzy just thinking about it.

 _This can't be happening. This cannot be happening right now._

"Why… M-Mari, why?"

Again, she gave no answer and only stared at him, mouth hanging open limply as those soulless eyes became alit with intent. Clumsily, Mari rose to her feet and groaned while her legs awkwardly shuffled her in his direction. Though he wanted more than anything to scream and run right then, Yuuri once more found himself paralyzed with terror. This was his sister, a woman he'd grown up with, coming at him with that same ravenous intent she'd shown their father. But… he couldn't really say anymore that the stumbling thing advancing toward him was Mari, could he? No, that wasn't Mari. At least, not the Mari he grew up with. This creature may have had her body, but it had none of her laid back, caring personality. This was _not_ his beloved, supportive older sister.

 _Move, move, move!_ he urged himself repeatedly and managed to break his trance, sprinting from what used to be Mari and retreating into the kitchen. At the thing's current speed, Yuuri reasoned he had a few solid minutes to come up with a game plan. Ah, but that just didn't feel like enough time. Why was he so inept at thinking under pressure?

"Y-Yuuri?" a meek voice interrupted his rapid, anxious train of thought and drew his attention toward the stove, where his mother was leaned weakly.

"Mom!"

Yuuri nearly started in her direction, but halted upon closer examination of his mother. Something wasn't right. Her normally radiant appearance now seemed sickly and her eyes… bloodshot and full of undeniable torture, as though she were fighting with some part of herself. Lowering his eyes, Yuuri noticed a nasty bite wound on her wrist, which she was then trying to cover with her hand. His lips tugged into a deep frown, blobs of tears pooling onto his cheeks. He'd already lost his father and sister. He wasn't ready to lose his mother, too. He couldn't.

Tentatively, Yuuri took a step closer to her. "Mom, are you—?"

"Don't come near me! Stay away!" she snapped, her words coming out incredibly slurred and nearly incomprehensible. They managed to cease his advance, despite their difficulty to make out. His mother was a woman of a cheery disposition and someone who rarely ever raised her voice in aggression. Her reaction confirmed his worst fears.

She was infected.

"Mom, no, please," Yuuri started, his voice failing him as it sank in just how hopeless the situation was.

"Y-you have to leave," she wheezed and pushed off the stove, staggering toward him. "Go, Yuuri, before I hurt you…"

 _No, no, please… not you, too…_

"M-mom, I don't understand," he cried, wanting nothing more than to rush into her arms and pretend this madness was all but a sick dream. But he couldn't. And he would never have that luxury again. "Please, say this isn't real. Y-you're really okay, right?"

Like Mari, his mother gave him no response and continued toward him, her once loving, shining eyes now blank canvases. Unintelligible gurgles passed her colorless lips as her clumsy movements quickened, striking panic into Yuuri. What was he supposed to do now? He had nowhere to go from here, what with his zombified sister in the next room. Anxiously, he raked his gaze around the kitchen for some sort of defense against his mother's rapidly approaching form. His breathing quickened as she came ever closer, clouding his ability to think properly. His shakes from earlier returned, though this time more intensely, and an onslaught of tears hindered his vision.

When she was nearly upon him, something broke within him and led him to instinctively reach for one of his mother's kitchen knives, plunging it into the side of her head with as much power as he held. As if in a hypnotic daze, he secured a hand on the back of her head and slammed it against the nearest counter over and over, repeating the action until her skull had been completely shattered and she ceased to even twitch. Yuuri allowed her corpse to slump to the stained floor and regarded his bloodied hands with emptiness.

A familiar groaning sounded from the kitchen's entrance and guided Yuuri's desolate gaze to rest on the clumsily advancing form of his sister. There was no turning back now, not if he wanted to survive. He knew what he had to do.

 _Go for the head, take out the brain. Nothing can function without a brain_ , he instructed himself, feet leading him around his mother's lifeless form to the stove, where his hand secured around the handle of a hot skillet.

Spinning on his heel, Yuuri turned to face the creature and rushed at it, swinging the iron skillet with enough force to knock the undead to the floor. He didn't hesitate with what had to be done. Placing a foot on the thing's back, Yuuri stared down at it, deadpan, and raised the skillet over his head, bringing the weaponized kitchen item down upon the undead's head. Blood dotted his lenses and stained his clothes upon impact. Tears streamed down his face as he lifted the skillet and hit the creature again. This felt wrong, like he was murdering his own sister. But he couldn't stop. He couldn't afford to offer it any mercy, even if it killed him inside to destroy it.

Once the creature stopped moving, Yuuri absentmindedly trudged out of the kitchen to reassess his father's body. The stench was just as unbearable as before, yet he didn't seem to notice it, even as he knelt beside his father's corpse.

"I'm so sorry, father…," Yuuri whispered and gently closed his father's terror-filled eyes. "But, I can't risk you coming back."

His hands trembled as he smashed his father's head in, the echoing sound of cracking bones causing the hairs on his arms to raise and making his stomach churn. This almost seemed crueler than how he'd treated Mari and his mother, to defile the dead like this. Not to mention, it was incredibly sacrilegious. Well, not that religion really mattered then. Yuuri drew in a deep, shaking breath and slammed the iron skillet into his father's broken head once more for good measure. A silence then fell over the ruined household, save for Yuuri's ragged breathing and a soft, pained whimper from nearby.

 _Vicchan._

Yuuri raised his head and searched the area desperately for the sweet puppy, whistling loudly to get Vicchan's attention. "Vicchan, come here."

The puppy's whining rose in volume in response to his owner's calling, and soon came into Yuuri's sight, limping pitifully toward him. At first glance of Vicchan, Yuuri's spirits rose, for he felt suddenly less alone and helpless amidst this madness. Though, as his beloved poodle drew closer, his heart crashed into his stomach. There, on Vicchan's back leg, was a bite.

 _Oh no._

"Come here, Vicchan," he called softly, reaching a hand toward the injured pup, struggling to offer a friendly smile to him.

Vicchan hobbled over to Yuuri and gave his hand a gentle lick before collapsing into his owner's lap. Carefully, Yuuri scooped the good-natured pup into his arms, breath hitching when he placed a hand on either side of the puppy's head. Vicchan didn't understand what was happening, what he would become, and that only made this more difficult. He was completely innocent in this, his only knowledge being the pain he experienced and the emotional unrest in the air. And this broke Yuuri's heart.

"E-everything will be okay, Vicchan," Yuuri assured quietly and rubbed his dog affectionately behind the ears. "You're going to a better place. I promise."

The poodle groaned in response to the pets and leaned into Yuuri's hands, his eyes falling shut as he basked in the affection. Yuuri moved his hands in one swift motion and cringed when the snapping of Vicchan's neck filled his ears. The puppy went limp in his lap, and for a moment Yuuri could do nothing but stare at the freshly deceased animal in shame. It had to be done—he knew that. But it didn't make him feel any better about it. Besides, he wasn't even done yet.

Yuuri tenderly placed his precious poodle before him and silently begged for his forgiveness before reclaiming the skillet and painfully shattering Vicchan's skull.

Now, it was truly silent in Yu-topia Katsuki. Yuuri sat in that same spot, his dead dog and father near him, for what seemed like hours. Slowly, the weight of what he'd done settled upon him, becoming heavier and heavier until the blankness left his gaze and he fully came to terms with his situation. His eyes glossed over with wave upon wave of tears and his lips quivered as his breath came in short, rapid intervals. Unable to hold it back anymore, Yuuri lowered his head into his stained hands, let out an agonizing shriek, and cried.


	2. Angel With a Shotgun

That man was his savior, an angel sent just for him, it seemed. Of course, he hadn't realized this at first. When the Japanese man had approached him, bloody handgun pointed in his direction, Viktor panicked. He honestly believed he was going to die that day.

"N-no, no! I'm okay!" the Russian screeched and switched frantically between his little knowledge of Japanese, English, and his native tongue in a desperate attempt to reach the man. "Don't shoot me, please!"

The man lifted a finger to his lips and stared past Viktor with a chillingly empty gaze. "Ssh, stay still and keep your voice down." His voice was gentle and it appeared like he was trying to be comforting, but the gun he had pointed at Viktor made the effort counterintuitive.

Before he could say another word in protest, the man pulled the trigger twice. Viktor released a high-pitched shriek and covered his face with his hands, unwilling to witness his death's arrival. However, the bullet never made contact, much to Viktor's amazement. Had the shooter missed? But how was that possible when he was so close? Peeking through his fingers, he turned slowly to look upon just what the man had shot at and stared in disbelief at the fresh corpse of an infected.

"Are you bitten?" his savior questioned quietly and lowered his weapon, gaze softening as he studied Viktor.

The inquiry fell on deaf ears. Viktor dropped his hands from his face and eyed the mysterious man with a wide, awe-stricken gaze. "Oh, you saved me!"

With a heavy sigh, the man knelt and examined his exposed skin for any bites. "You can thank me later." His dark eyes narrowed and brows knitted together in deep concentration. Even covered in dirt and blood, Viktor thought he was rather dashing—this was likely attributed to the fact that this man had saved his life, but he figured it was a valid enough reason for infatuation. When his dazzling savior seemed sure that he wasn't bitten, he rose to his feet and extended a hand to Viktor. The scene, Viktor thought, was absolutely angelic. In a morbid, apocalyptic sense.

"Oh, I can thank you now! So, thank you," he chirped and gratefully took the man's hand, allowing himself to be pulled to his feet. Viktor swayed a little as he adjusted to being on his feet and was thankful when the shorter man moved to support him.

"Are you going to be alright? Can you walk?"

Viktor offered him a bright, reassuring smile and nodded, the action making him a tad dizzy. Just how long had he been passed out before this stranger had shown up? "I'll be okay. I can walk fine."

"Yuuri, we'd better get moving," the man's companion spoke up. "Some of the uninfected corpses are starting to stink, and it'll attract the infected here."

 _Yuuri…_

So that was his savior's name. It was quite lovely.

Yuuri turned his attention to his friend, nose wrinkling up as though he were just now registering the rotten stench, and nodded to acknowledge the darker man's concerns. Quickly, he pulled one of his many handguns from a holster and placed it in Viktor's hand before parting from him. Viktor examined the weapon with a frown and made sure to keep it pointed at the ground. He'd hate to accidentally hurt someone because of his inexperience with guns.

"Come on," Yuuri instructed, a serious glint settling in his gaze as his feet carried him away from the group. "Let's keep moving."

Without a moment's delay, his friend was walking in step next to him. Viktor, for a brief time, stared after the pair, though his attention was primarily fixated on Yuuri. He was astonishing, really. For someone who appeared so young, Yuuri carried himself with an intensity and maturity beyond his years. He honestly expected someone around his age to take this whole outbreak a lot worse.

 _What a badass_ , Viktor thought with a cheerful grin and followed the two, feeling safer than he had since this apocalypse had begun.

—

Viktor hadn't known Yuuri well when he came to that conclusion. He'd wrongly assumed that Yuuri's parental tendencies and serious demeanor were just part of who he was. He hadn't had a clue what really made Yuuri… well, _Yuuri_.

He knew better now.

Viktor was fully aware of the precious family photo that Yuuri kept on his person at all times, which he also cried over some nights when he thought no one was listening. He knew that sometimes all that could put their anxious leader to sleep was his tears, for those episodes of crying left him so emotionally drained that Yuuri had no other choice but to succumb to a restless slumber. Many nights, Viktor would lay awake and listen to the pitiful whimpers that Yuuri emitted in sleep when nightmares corrupted his dreams, understanding too well that this was the only time Yuuri felt free to indulge in the pain he repressed in front of them. Occasionally, he would turn over and tenderly cradle their sleeping leader in his arms to bring at least a shred of comfort to the hurting man. At times, it worked. Others, not so much. Viktor was still learning when his hugs would bring serenity to Yuuri, and when they would only heighten his crippling anxiety.

Where he once felt strong admiration for Yuuri's dedication to keeping them safe, Viktor now felt an overwhelming sadness and pity, for he knew now such a protective urge stemmed from his fear to lose again. When he watched Yuuri slay the infected, he recognized now that the blankness in his eyes was not a lack of feeling, but dissociation—Yuuri's own attempt at staving off guilt and coping with his savagery toward the walking dead. Yuuri, Viktor realized, was not strong and serious by his own doing, rather he had been forced into the role by the circumstances that'd befallen him in the beginning of this madness.

Viktor didn't know how Yuuri had been before the outbreak. All he knew were stories, memories shared by Phichit of his friendship with their leader, and the occasional glimpses Yuuri allowed when they were alone. Otherwise, Viktor could only imagine their leader's bright laughter and the shy, but radiant smile Phichit had described to him once. Yuuri had loved to dance, he knew, but thus far never had the privilege to witness it. When he tried to prompt Yuuri to dance with him, he was always met with a mournful gaze and a quiet, resigned refusal. It seemed to Viktor that Yuuri had given up on himself, but he loved their leader regardless and would work his hardest to make sure Yuuri could dance again once this all was over.


End file.
